


Where I Will Follow

by MagickMissile



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant (as much as possible anyway), Canon Parallel, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Blue Lions/Azure Moon Route, Spoilers for Seteth & Flayn's A-Support Scene, Spoilers for Seteth & Flayn's Paralogue, educated guesses for stuff in canon that's never fleshed out, flashbacks to the War of Heroes and earlier, i know oberron sounds like a gary stu but hes not i promise, let! Seteth! be! bi!, look there are a lot of spoilers ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-11-23 04:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagickMissile/pseuds/MagickMissile
Summary: Oberron Verick is the only person in the last century to bear the Oracle Crest. Thought lost to history, this Crest grants its bearer confusing and cryptic visions of the future. Oberron spends his days hiding away in his room at Garreg Mach, piecing together his visions and trying to make sense of them for the good of the world. But a breadcrumb trail of clues begin to lead him to realizing that he has an otherworldly connection to  the adviser of the Archbishop, one that was determined long, long ago.





	1. Prologue - A Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which even in dreams, some things cannot be forgotten.

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Imperial Year 1159, Pegasus Moon _

Seteth dreamed of war.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had this particular dream. He knew it wouldn’t be the last. This was the sort of dream that came from life experiences long repressed; a drudging up of old memories better left buried deep within his heart. Unfortunately, no amount of avoidance could teach his sleeping subconscious to let the past lie.

_ The chaos of battle that he felt beneath his feet had given way to frantic retreat as Nemesis’ forces broke the lines of his people. His wife had come running to him, their daughter in her arms. Relief flooded through him. He feared his family had been swallowed by the war. But Tethra was strong, and Cethleann was powerful. They were not so easily broken. _

_ He pulled them into his embrace, feeling the fear in his heart fade to a still silence. For a moment, all was right in the world. Their family was whole again, even in the face of war… of genocide. Cichol kissed his wife’s dirt-covered brow as she explained between breaths what had happened to Cethleann. _

_ “She was healing one of our brethren.” Tethra said, “Her attention was on her task, she could not see the lance coming.” _

_ Cichol looked down at his daughter. A deep wound oozed blood, the puncture much too close to her heart for comfort. Panic began to crawl up his spine, until he saw the small rise and fall of Cethleann’s chest. “She is… asleep?” he asked. _

_ Tethra nodded. “A slumber of recovery, I suspect.” _

_ “Can you fly?” he asked. _

_ She shook her head. “My energy has been depleted. It was all I could do to get to you.” _

_ Cichol himself was in a similar state. Both of them lacking the ability to shift forms would make escaping Nemesis a challenge. He took his daughter from his wife. “I shall carry her for now. You must save your strength.” _

_ “Are you injured?” _

_ “Nothing that will slow me down.” He turned toward Zanado. The city was in a panic as Nabateans fled from their homes to avoid the oncoming slaughter. Columns of smoke began to plume up from behind the walls. The enemy had breached the defenses during the melee, but their numbers were few for the time being. Once Nemesis’ forces entered the gates of the city in full, there would be death and destruction the likes of which his people had never seen before. _

_ Beyond the city, Cichol knew, he would meet with his brothers and sister. Beyond the city, they would all be safe. _

_ They just had to make it there. _

_ Shouts of a thousand men came from somewhere in the distance. Nemesis’ troops were coming. “My love,” Tethra said, putting a hand on Cichol’s cheek. “There is no time. We need to get her to safety.” _

_ The two set out across the ruined canyon at a brisk pace. Tethra favored her left leg just slightly, and her husband saw that a blade had torn her calf near in two. A pang of sadness went through his heart. To see his beautiful wife in such a state… He shook off the pitiful thoughts, and modified his pace so that Tethra could keep up with him. _

_ When she noticed he was slowing to keep pace with her, she pushed him forward. “Do not slow on my account!” she barked. _

_ “I am not leaving without you,” he answered over his shoulder. _

_ “I am right behind you, my love.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Where you go, I follow.” _

_ The unusual amount of sentimentality in her words put Cichol on edge. She was not usually so endearing and loving in the midst of a battle. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the day’s events addling her mind. Maybe she had been put under some spell that had lingering effects. Maybe… _

_ He felt the footsteps before he heard them. The resonance of a single human marching with purpose and resolve echoed through the dirt as Cichol’s feet. He was surprised by the amount of sheer power each step forced into the ground. How could the footsteps of one man feel so much like an army of thousands? Left, right, left, right… _

_ He glanced over his shoulder at his wife, about ten paces behind him. She had not noticed the footsteps, of course. Fire was her given element, where the earth was his. Tethra would not notice the approaching foe until he was upon them. Cichol turned around to warn his wife of the coming danger. _

_ There was a snapping sound, followed by the clattering of bones striking each other. A whip of black leather cord with glowing red barbs embedded across its length lashed out at the fleeing Nabateans. It did not strike them, but Tethra was well within its range. It was the only warning shot they were going to get. _

_ “Nemesis!” Cichol cried, clutching Cethleann in his arms a little tighter. “Tethra, we have to run!” _

_ But with her wounded leg, Tethra was moving too slowly. Cichol turned back around and rushed toward her, intending to carry her away from the murderer that trailed them. He shifted Cethleann’s small form to one arm, and reached out to his wife, who had turned to behold the enemy. If he could just get to her in time. _

_ He was too late. _

_ Nemesis flicked the Sword of the Creator’s deadly point directly through Tethra’s torso. The tip burst through her back, carving clean through her heart, and stopping mere inches before Cichol’s exposed chest. He stared down at the glowing whip, unable to understand in the moment what had just happened. With a snap, Nemesis recalled his sword. It released its grip on Tethra as it retracted, and she slumped to the ground. _

_ Cichol screamed in agony and rage. He set Cethleann upon a small patch of dry grass and charged forward at the giant human, drawing the Spear of Assal as he ran. His own safety did not matter now. This monster had killed Tethra. This monster had killed his wife. Vengeance was owed and Cichol would seize it with the fury of the earth itself. _

_ And then Nemesis was gone. Cichol looked up to see a great beast taking to the air, having swooped low to grab the human in its enormous talons. He knew that beast. Seiros. His sister had stolen away the brute before Cichol could strike. He watched her fly far off the battlefield with her prize flailing in her grasp, staring after the dragon as if he were stuck in a trance. _

_ A soft gasp startled him. “Cichol… my love…” _

_ Vengeance could wait. _

_ He rushed to his wife’s side to see that she still had life within her, albeit very little. Tethra lay in a darkening pool of blood that stained the dusty earth beneath her. _

_ Cichol cradled her head in his lap. There was not much time left. “I am here, beloved.” Emotion crashed upon him like a wave breaking over a rock. This was all wrong. He could not bear to lose Tethra, his heart, his soul, his first and last love. If he had just been a little bit quicker to grab her... _

_ Her pale green eyes looked up at him, and she smiled. “Do not weep, my dear Cichol.” she said, her voice soft. “All has come to pass as it should.” _

_ Tears flowed over his cheeks. “Do not say such things. Fate is never certain.” _

_ She let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “You and I, of all people, know that fate is not a force to be trifled with.” _

_ Tethra cupped his cheek with her hand and wiped the tears from his face. Cichol closed his eyes for a moment, savoring her last touch. How could he live without this? Without her? And what about Cethleann? He could not raise her on his own. _

_ “Our daughter is a brilliant light to the world.” said Tethra, as if she were reading his mind. “Take care that it never goes out. Promise me that, my love.” _

_ He nodded, clutching her hand in both of his. “You have my word. I will protect her always.” _

_ Another soft smile. Tethra’s eyes became slightly distant, before refocusing on her husband. “Our souls are entwined, Cichol. No matter how far you wander from me, I will always follow.” _

_ Cichol leaned down to touch his forehead to hers, sobs wracking his body. Tethra’s eyes unfocused again. Her last word was a whisper for him alone. _

_ “Always…” _

“Brother? Brother, wake up!”

Seteth’s eyes snapped open. It took him a long moment to remember that he was in his quarters at Garreg Mach monastery. The room was not yet familiar to him, as he had only begun occupying it a month before. Glancing out the lone window, he saw it was still night. He couldn’t have been asleep for longer than two hours. 

“Brother? Are you in there?” Flayn’s small voice came through the door, accompanied by a soft knocking.

Seteth sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes. His cheeks were wet with tears. _ It has been a long time since I thought of that day… _“Come in, Flayn.”

His daughter entered his chambers, wearing only a nightgown that was too big for her. While Seteth struggled to wake up, Flayn was nearly bouncing with excitement. “Brother, Lady Rhea sent me to find y—“ She stopped as she saw the tears that stained his face. “Oh, no… are you all right?”

“I am quite well, for being woken up in the middle of the night.” Seteth wiped away the tears.

Flayn’s cheerful demeanor became somber. It was not an expression she wore well. “Did you dream of mother again?”

The images of the dream he had just woken up from flashed in his mind’s eye, gone in an instant. He nodded to his daughter. “It is no matter. What did Lady Rhea send you to me for?”

“A boy has appeared at the monastery,” Flayn replied as Seteth stood up from bed. “A strange boy, with a strange story.”

“What makes him so strange?”

“He says he was told to come to Garreg Mach by a vision!” Flayn could hardly keep the excitement from her voice. 

“A vision?” Seteth pondered for a moment. “What sort of vision?”

“He has not explained everything yet. Lady Rhea wanted him to wait until you were there to hear, so he would not have to repeat himself.”

“That was kind of her.” Seteth smoothed out his linen nightshirt and nodded to his daughter. “Lead the way.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this! I haven't published any fics since back in the ol' ff.net days, so it's been a hot minute. Any and all feedback is appreciated!


	2. A Very Strange Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Oberron, and Seteth trusts no one.

_ Garreg Mach Monastery, Imperial Year 1159, Pegasus Moon _

Seteth followed his daughter through the monastery. He was surprised that she seemed to know her way around, despite having only lived at Garreg Mach for a month. Seteth himself constantly got lost in the long, stone halls. He knew he would learn the layout eventually, but for now, having Flayn as a guide was a much-needed blessing.

She led him to the audience chamber, where Lady Rhea waited for them. Seteth’s sister was not seated upon her throne-like chair, but rather kneeling upon the steps of the dais. She, too, was in her nightclothes: a white linen robe that reflected the light of the candles that lit the room. Behind her, the stained glass window, usually bursting with color, was dull with shades of gray in reflection of the darkness outside. Not even the moon shone through. 

Sitting on the steps next to Rhea was a boy. He was wearing a tan tunic and breeches, like those that belonged to commoners who worked the land. His feet were bare, the pale skin caked with dirt and dust. The rest of him was not much cleaner, with smudges of filth staining his face and exposed arms. Beneath the shaggy, black hair that threatened to obscure his vision, intelligent emerald eyes watched Rhea as she spoke soothingly.

“Ah, and here he is,” Rhea said, as Seteth and Flayn entered the room. She rose from the dais, and her advisor assumed his position at her side. The archbishop gestured to the new arrivals. “This is my trusted advisor, Seteth. He is also Flayn’s older brother.”

“Greetings,” said Seteth, his usual stern tone softened to better address a child. “I hear that you have a story to tell us.”

The boy said nothing, only nodded. Seteth found the boy’s gaze unnerving, as if the child could see through him. Though the boy seemed to be of an age with Flayn, his eyes bore the hardness of one who lived too much too soon. 

Suspicion began to creep its way into Seteth’s heart. Something about this boy wasn’t right.

“There is no need to be shy,” Rhea said to the child. “Seteth is a trusted friend and confidant of mine, and has been so for many years. Anything that is said to me can be said to him.”

The boy’s eyes flicked to Flayn, who stood awkwardly across from her father. Seteth first assumed that he was distrusting of her as well, but then the boy’s shoulders relaxed. He seemed to take to Flayn more than anyone else in the room. 

That did  _ not  _ sit well with Seteth. He tried to convince himself that the boy was more comfortable with those his own age than adults. But the argument was thin, and his paranoia won over.  _ I will have to watch this one closely… _

His thoughts were interrupted as the boy finally spoke. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. 

“Tell us why you came here.” Rhea instructed calmly. “What brought you to Garreg Mach, Oberron?”

The boy--Oberron--looked down at his grimy hands, folded in his lap. “She told me to.”

“And who is that?”

Oberron shrugged, still looking down. “I don’t know her name. She didn’t say.”

“What did she say, exactly?”

The boy looked up at Rhea, then squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. “She said… ‘Go home to the place where Seiros and all her saints slumber’.”

Seteth blinked, and looked over at his daughter to see his confused expression mirrored on her face. Surely, Oberron was referencing the Holy Tomb, and not…

Rhea nodded, unfazed by the potential weight in the statement. “Go home? Do you not have one?”

“I…” Oberron seemed to wrestle with his thoughts over a response. “I… did have one. But I left.”

“How long ago did you leave?”

“Three weeks ago, I think. It was a long walk from Rhodos.”

Before Rhea could ask another question, Flayn piped up. “You are from the Rhodos Coast?” Oberron nodded. “What a beautiful place to call home! With the sea, the sand… it must have been lovely.”

“It was.” Speaking with Flayn, rather than Rhea, seemed to put the boy at ease. “Our village made its living by fishing in the sea. I used to help my father haul in the day’s catch, and then I’d play with my friends until suppertime. Until…” He looked down at his hands again. 

“Until what?” asked Flayn.

“Until  _ she _ started showing up.”

“The woman from your vision?” 

He thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know if she  _ is _ a woman. She  _ sounds  _ like a woman, but I can’t ever remember what she looks like.”

“Oberron,” said Rhea, “do you know about the Goddess?”

The boy shrugged. “I know some stuff. Like who the saints are, and… actually, that’s about it.” His confidence wavered at the admission, as he realized who he was speaking to. “I don’t mean to be rude, Lady Rhea, I just--”

She held up a hand to stop him. “You are young, and from a very isolated community. Your ignorance is not due to malicious intent.”

He blinked. “... Thank you, I think.”

That earned him a soft smile from the Archbishop. “Tell me, how many times have you had these visions?”

Oberron fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and looked to Flayn for guidance. She gave him a reassuring nod. “Only three times.” he answered, “In the first two, I forgot what she said, but I know they happened. The last one was… well, I already told you.”

Seteth, who had been deep in thought during the conversation, asked a question that was on his mind. “Did she say anything else to you, aside from telling you to come to Garreg Mach?”

Oberron squeezed his eyes shut again and furrowed his brow in concentration. Silence filled the audience chamber as the boy remained deep in thought. For the briefest moment, Seteth caught Rhea’s eye and did his best to communicate that he did not care for the whole situation in the slightest. If his sister understood the message, she did not react.

“I… don’t remember, exactly,” he said, at last. “I think she said something about a baby.” He shook his head. “The memory is really fuzzy, sorry.”

“You need not apologize,” replied Rhea, kneeling before the boy. “You are a brave young man for walking so far on your own. You must be tired, and hungry.”

Oberron nodded with more enthusiasm than he’d shown during the entire conversation. 

“Because you have been so forthcoming, I have sent word that a meal and bed be prepared for you for the evening.” said the Archbishop, “But before I let Flayn take you to the dining hall, I just have one last question.” She paused, giving the boy the opportunity to object. When he did not, she continued, “Is there anything else that you think we should know?”

Oberron looked aside, as if debating whether he should bother with a triviality. Seteth watched the boy carefully, waiting for him to make a move to prove his premonitions. 

“I know a trick.” Oberron said. “A magic trick. But I don’t know what it means.”

Seteth raised an eyebrow. Inwardly, the muscles in his legs and arms began to tense. He let his old warrior instincts flow into his limbs, preparing to defend Flayn or Lady Rhea if the boy should attempt to strike them.

Slowly, Oberron held out his hand, palm up. The muscles in his jaw clenched as he focused with all his might. Small lights began to flicker above his palm, pale green and weak. The boy concentrated harder, and the lights began to coalesce to form a shape. A circle, with an open eye in the middle of it. Oberron held the shape in place for two long seconds, before his focus gave way, and the image disappeared. 

Seteth stared at the boy, mouth agape. He had seen that shape before. But to think that it would appear after thousands of years of lying dormant… No, there had to be some trickery afoot. It was impossible.

Silence filled the audience chamber. Oberron, red-faced from his effort, looked up to see three pairs of green eyes staring at him in shock. “I’m… not very good,” he said, apologetically. “But I’ve gotten much better since the first time I tried.”

“That mark…” Flayn’s voice was nearly a whisper. “Is it--?”

“An Oracle Crest.” said Rhea. “He produced an Oracle Crest.”

Seteth shook his head. “We cannot assume that from a minor image alone. We must test him properly. It has been several centuries since anyone has seen such a crest. There must be some mistake.”

“Brother,” said Flayn, quietly, “the boy says he has visions.”

“We have no proof of that, aside from his word.”

“Seteth.” Rhea’s tone emulated a command to cease talking. “Your concerns are noted. I must pray and meditate upon this subject. If the Goddess has sent us Her first Oracle in a thousand years, we would do well to keep him close.” She turned to face her brother, her eyes hard. “One does not spurn a gift from the Goddess.”

_ But we do not know for a fact that he even  _ is  _ a gift!  _ Seteth thought with frustration. Aloud, he said nothing. He touched a hand to his chest and bowed to his Archbishop. “In the morning, I shall begin my research into the subject. My findings will be reported to you posthaste.”

Rhea nodded approvingly, but Seteth could not help but feel that there was a bit of smugness in the gesture as well. It irked him that his sister was so ready to accept a stranger into her home. “Thank you, Seteth,” she said. “I think it is time we all retire for the night.”

Oberron, who had been looking back and forth between the two during the short argument, shifted nervously. “Did… I do something wrong?”

“Oh, no.” Flayn said. She extended a hand to Oberron and helped him to his feet. “Come, let us get you some food, and then to bed. You can tell me more about the Rhodos Coast while you eat.”

Oberron looked at the adults, as if waiting for permission to go. Seteth found himself locking eyes with him for a long moment. He could sense no trickery, no foul intent in the boy’s gaze. But just because they weren’t on the surface, did not mean such notions were absent beneath. Even after the eye contact was broken, Seteth watched Oberron with suspicion as his daughter escorted the boy from the audience chamber. The reason was not yet evident, but Seteth knew to trust his instincts when something felt wrong.

And something about that boy was  _ definitely _ wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I promise Oberron won't stay ten years old forever. Bear with me for one more chapter of him as a kid, before we jump ahead to the main bulk of his story. (PS. I'm not trying to do some weird underage romance, please don't worry!)


	3. Chapter Two - The First Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an honest mistake is made, but at a cost that is worse than Oberron expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to do a slight rearranging of months, because the Fodlan calendar is weird. Oberron is still a ten-year-old at this time!

Chapter Two - The First Failure

A prophecy came to Oberron on the last day of Horsebow Moon, just over a week after he’d settled in at Garreg Mach.

  
He’d been sitting on the end of the fishing pier, watching the setting sun reflect off the water, and feeling decidedly guilty. “Is there anything else that you think we should know?” Archbishop Rhea’s question echoed over and over in his mind. He knew he had done the smart thing, not telling her about the weird stones. She’d be disappointed in him if she ever found out, he assumed. But if he’d told her outright about climbing the glowing rocks, and the flash when he reached the top… Oberron couldn’t even begin to imagine the trouble he’d be in.

He still felt quite guilty for hiding the truth. Especially from someone as important as Lady Rhea. It was a sin so big he knew he was doomed to the Eternal Flames for sure.

Flayn had joined him after a while, and the two of them sat alone at the pond. They spoke of fish and Oberron’s hometown, amongst other trivialities. That helped lift the weight from his heart, even if it was temporary. There was something about the girl’s presence that calmed Oberron; something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it now.

“... Bullheads are quite tasty when they are cooked,” Flayn was saying, “But they are so very hard to catch. Sometimes I wonder if the Monastery does not even stock the pond with such fish.”

“How often do they stock the pond?” asked Oberron.

“Oh, once every moon or so,” Flayn replied. “I try to sneak glances when they do, to guess what I might catch--”

Most abruptly, Oberron was no longer listening. He suddenly felt quite light-headed and woozy. His senses ceased functioning completely, his vision reduced to inky blackness and he could no longer hear Flayn’s voice. He felt as though his body did not belong to him, somehow. He could not stop himself from tipping forward towards the water...

Oberron saw nothing but blackness. And then she appeared, the mysterious form that seemed to be the source of all these prophecies. She didn’t look at all human, far from it. In the little glimpses that Oberron got (and remembered), he saw a great, black beast, with two enormous wings, and eyes the color of mint leaves.

The image of this beast flickered back and forth, between her full body, and the slitted pupils of her eyes. And she spoke to him:

_“A father does not dare to trust the ways of those he follows_  
_ In effort to escape their grasp, he builds himself a gallows_  
_ The light will blaze, the ashes rain, and several more will die_  
_ And then the babe, born with flames, will quiet and not cry.”_

With barely enough time for the last word to echo in Oberron’s head, the beast vanished. The blackness before him gave way to warm sunlight, and Flayn’s worried face leaning over him. He was lying on his back, still on the fishing pier.

  
“What…?” he mumbled, feeling quite dizzy.

“Oh, thank the Goddess!” exclaimed Flayn. “I was worried you had fainted from the heat. Or worse.”

Slowly, Oberron sat up. He held his head in one hand, for fear it would fall off and roll away if he didn’t. “How long…?”

Flayn put a soothing hand on his shoulder. “You were only gone for a few moments. It was absolutely terrifying! You almost fell in the water, and then your eyes… they became pure white.”

“Did they? I didn’t know that happened when I...” He trailed off.

Flayn’s eyes were wide with worry and concern. “What happened to you, Oberron?”

“I got… uh, I had a vision.”

Flayn’s eyes widened. “A prophecy? What did it say?”

His head was feeling more secured to the rest of him, but the world still spun at the edges of his vision. “It said… she…” He shook his head to clear the remaining fog away. “A gallows. Something… Someone building a gallows.”  
  
“How morbid!” cried Flayn. “Was there more?”

Oberron closed his eyes and tried to recall what had been said to him, but it all seemed to fade into the background in his mind. “If there was,” he replied sadly, “I can’t remember it.”

Flayn started to stand up. “We must go tell my brother and Lady Rhea at once! They will want to know of this vision immediately!”

Telling the adults about this prophecy seemed very wrong to Oberron. Not to mention that talking to Lady Rhea was something he wished to avoid at all cost. He tugged on Flayn’s sleeve to stop her from leaving. “No! We can’t.”

“Why ever not?”

“What if… what if they’re the ones building the gallows?”

Flayn pondered that for a moment. “If they are, my brother has not mentioned it to me.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of thing you just tell someone.” Oberron crossed his arms. “We need to find this out on our own. Once we know who is building the gallows, then we can talk to Lady Rhea.”

“And if she is the one we seek?”

Oberron shrugged. “Then we tell Seteth. And we tell Rhea if Seteth is the one building the gallows. Make sense?”

Flayn pondered it for a moment, then nodded. “We should search the monastery. Whoever is constructing such a horrible thing will likely be doing it in secret.”

Oberron stood up to face her. “That makes sense, yeah. It’s a pretty big thing, though. It can’t be that well hidden. Maybe whoever’s building it only works on it at night?”

“We should wait until everyone has gone to bed,” decided Flayn. “We can sneak out of our rooms and look for it.”

Oberron nodded. “That’s a good idea. And we can cover more ground if there’s two of us. But we can’t let anyone know we’re on to them, okay?”

“A secret mission! How delightful!” Flayn giggled. “All right, Oberron. I will meet you here, two chimes after the evening meal.”

“I’ll be there.” Oberron replied, equally as excited as Flayn about the plan. “We’ll solve this mystery, just us two.”

\---

Flayn and Oberron spent nearly two weeks sneaking out of bed at night and searching for the mysterious “gallows”. The monastery was big, and Oberron was still unused to the layout. He often got lost or confused, and usually had to wait for Flayn to find and redirect him. She was always happy to do so, and he was always grateful for the help. Together they darted around Garreg Mach, hiding in corners and behind doors when the night watch would pass by. If nothing else, it was just fun.

They found nothing, of course. Not a shred of evidence to suggest that someone was building anything in secret. But they were determined to see this through, and they enjoyed their little game besides. It reminded Oberron of his village, and the other kids he used to run around with. He wondered what they were up to, now that he was gone. Were they looking for him? His father had probably told them that Oberron had gone to serve a higher calling. Makes it sound like I’m dead.

The search ended abruptly on the seventh day of the Wyvern Moon. This was due to a terrible fire that suddenly seized Garreg Mach. It had started near the marketplace, which had long since emptied for the night, and quickly ate through the ancient bricks to the entrance hall and even the dormitories of the Officer’s Academy students. Teams of guards and civilians both raced back and forth from the wells (and in some cases, the hot springs) to gather buckets of water to douse the blaze. Mages and monks summoned ice crystals to prevent the fire from spreading, but it was burning much too quickly to tame.

Lady Rhea herself had attempted to assist the firefighting efforts, but once she arrived, the blaze had withered to smoky embers. Seeing that the task was complete, she had retreated back to the audience chamber to survey the damages. She was soon surrounded by knights and advisors, who provided new angles of first-hand accounts from the scene.  
Her chief advisor, Seteth, was in the advisory chamber, not far away. He wrote notes with a slightly shaking hand, measuring exactly the distance that the fire had spread so as to track its source. Flayn rested on a couch near him, bundled in a blanket and unharmed. The fire had not reached the part of the monastery that contained their living quarters, but he had collected her from her room just in case. To her credit, she hadn’t argued, but she had expressed her concern for the Oracle, Oberron.

The boy had not been seen since news of the blaze began to circulate, which, Seteth knew, made Flayn nervous. But Oberron’s quarters were in the same building as theirs, and so he was likely safe. He had probably slept through the whole ordeal, Goddess bless him. Seteth had used this logic to assuage Flayn’s worries, and it had worked, at least for the time being.

Neither of them knew, of course, that Oberron was actually hidden behind a pillar in the next room.

He had been out exploring when the fire had started, his search for the mysterious gallows keeping him from sleep. When the Archbishop and her retinue had appeared in the audience chamber, Oberron barely had time to hide. Through bits of conversation, he pieced together what had happened, but remained where he was. If he was caught now, he might well be blamed for the fire.

The boy listened carefully as Rhea acknowledged each one of her knights and monks, accepting their theories about how the blaze had started, and taking all their testimonies of the night into account. The audience chamber was abuzz with worried voices, the tension in the air almost palpable. Everyone was scared, but mostly, they wanted to know what had started such a fire. Was it a mishap in the kitchen? Magical training gone awry? Or was it intentional?

The doors to the audience chamber were suddenly slammed open, an echo of wood hitting stone resonating through the room. Every voice was immediately startled to silence. Oberron chanced a look from his hiding place. A man had entered, one whom the boy vaguely knew of. Oberron had seen him around the monastery, and Flayn had pointed him out once. Tall and muscular, with a weather-worn face and a sour expression: this was the current captain of the Knights of Seiros, Jeralt Eisner. From behind his pillar, Oberron could see that the captain’s eyes were red, and his cheeks were wet with tears. Had he been crying?

Jeralt stormed up to the Archbishop, and the crowd parted to let him through. “I have a report,” he declared, his voice thick. “The current body count stands at six men, three women, and…” He took a shuddering breath. “And one infant. My… my son.”

Murmurs enveloped the room. Lady Rhea closed her eyes for a long moment, and bowed her head. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, Captain Eisner.” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “To lose a child that young… the pain must be unbearable.”

Whatever the reply was, Oberron did not hear. He had just remembered something, something so important he could barely believe he’d forgotten it in the first place. An echo of a voice came back to him from deep within his memory:_ “... The light will blaze, the ashes rain, and several more will die. And then the babe, born with flames, will quiet and not cry.”_

Oberron stopped breathing. She had told him. She had given him a piece of knowledge of the future, a piece of knowledge that could have been used to save those people, and Captain Jeralt’s son...

_… and he’d forgotten the whole thing._

He felt as if his heart was caught in his throat. Tears began to well in his eyes. The room began to spin. He needed to get away from these people, from the captain’s sorrowful eyes. Throwing away any attempts at a stealthy getaway, Oberron ran out of the doors of the audience chamber.

He didn’t stop running until he reached his room. He slammed the door shut, collapsed on the bed, and sobbed. This was all his fault. He should have remembered sooner. He should have told the adults about the prophecy. There were no stupid gallows; the whole search had been pointless. He knew this would happen, he knew this would happen, _he knew this would happen…_

He cried for some time, lamenting his own forgetfulness and blaming himself for every single death that had happened in the fire. At some point, he curled up into a ball, laying on his side and letting his tears stain the pillow. If this was what being an Oracle was like, he didn’t want anything to do with it. He clearly wasn’t cut out for the job. It was all a mistake that he’d even gotten this stupid Crest anyway...

He didn’t hear the knock on his door, nor did he realize that Flayn had even come in until she sat down on his bed. She put her hand on his back, and he startled at the touch. “It is only me, Oberron,” she murmured, gently stroking between his shoulder blades. “I saw you run from the audience chamber. Are you unwell?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but the only thing that came out was a hiccup. His cheeks pinked with embarrassment, which only made him cry harder. Flayn let him take his time to compose himself, only occasionally offering a soft, “It is okay, Oberron.” to soothe him.

Finally, he sniffled and found his voice. “The prophecy… Flayn, I forgot…”

“The one that you had on the pier?”

He nodded, uncurling his body so that he could sit up. “There was more than just the bit about the gallows. And I…” He forced away a fresh wave of tears. “I _forgot_ about it.” Flayn waited for him to continue, and he wiped at his eyes. “Something in the prophecy talked about a fire, and a baby that would die in it. I… I knew, Flayn. I could have _saved…_”

The look she gave him was utterly full of sorrow. Oberron thought he could even see tears start to well in her bright green eyes. “Oh, Oberron,” she said, drawing him into a tight hug. “You must not blame yourself for this. Forgetting things is a part of life.”

“Not…” He started to sob again. _Not when you’re an Oracle. Not when your entire reason for existing is to learn about the future to help people._ “I shouldn’t have forgotten. I’m… I’m so stupid!”

“You are not stupid,” Flayn replied. “If you truly see this as a mistake, then you must learn from it, going forward. Perhaps there is something you can do to help you remember what is said when you get a prophecy?”

“Like what?” he sniffled.

“Like… writing it down, right away?”

Oberron shook his head. “I… I don’t know how.”

Flayn’s eyes widened with surprise. “You were never taught how to write?”

He shrugged, a bit pitifully. “I guess my folks never saw the need for it. Can’t read much, either.”

Flayn thought for a moment, then smiled. “Well then!” she declared, “This is what my brother would call a ‘teachable moment’, quite literally!”

“What do you mean?”

She stood up from his bed. “I am going to teach you how to read and write, Oberron.”

He blinked at her, surprised.

“I can ask my brother to lend me parchment and ink,” she went on, “and I have an old book of fables he wrote for me when I was small. It should be a perfect teaching tool.”

Oberron looked at the floor. “You don’t have to spend your time…”

“Oh, but I do!” She knelt to look into his eyes. “You are my friend, and I wish to help you. And even if you were not, I would still do it. I will teach the young Oracle to read and write, for the good of all of Fodlan!”

Despite himself, Oberron gave her a shy smile. “Okay. What should I call you, if you’re to be my teacher?”

She paused, then grinned. “Professor Flayn, I think, would do nicely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that does it for Oberron's childhood! Next chapter will be a quick time lapse of his growing up, followed by the beginning of his relationship with our dear Advisor...


End file.
